Drawings
by superchick11
Summary: One of the many possibilities for how Rose turns out while trying to live up to impossible expectations and dealing with an annoying, know-it-all Malfoy. Rated T for themes, but I'm not gonna say which, because, you know, spoilers... Read and Review, please & thx! : )


**AN: Inspiration struck when I wasn't able to sleep, so I decided to write instead. This might be a one-shot but I have an idea to continue it… :/**

Rose Weasley liked to draw. She drew to express herself and to let out her feelings- her anger, her pain, her fear, and her shame. They were strange drawings, indeed, but also very private. She didn't dare show them to anyone else, for fear of rejection, humiliation, and being labeled a freak. Why would she need to show them anyways? It's not like they cared, really. So she kept her drawings to herself, and continued drawing, just to add to her collection.

She drew because of the pressure. Just because her parents were the almighty heroes of the Second Wizarding War, she was expected to be as brilliant and as _perfect_ as they were. Did she ask for these expectations? Did she accomplish anything to merit them being thrust upon her? Of course not! And yet, she continued to try to live up to them, if not for anything else, then to avoid becoming a disappointment to the Weasley name. Having Hermione Granger/Weasley (The Brightest Witch of her Age) as a mother definitely didn't help to reign in those unrealistic expectations. She was expected to be top of her class, all the time. Whenever the pressure became too much, she drew.

Scorpius Malfoy definitely didn't help her situation. He managed to find a way to be better at her in everything. It was so infuriating! Whenever he proved himself superior by scoring higher on a test or homework assignment, he made sure to rub it in her face. He never seemed to leave her alone, because when he was done gloating, he had the nerve to come up to her and start flirting with her! Who did he think he was? He definitely wasn't any James Potter, that was for sure. (Of course she had to hear that story from Uncle Harry every Thanksgiving and every Christmas.) She wasn't going to lie, every time he came behind her and whispered in her ear or he winked at her, she felt butterflies in her stomach that stayed around for longer that she would like to admit. But she couldn't do anything- he was a Malfoy and she was a Weasley. So she fantasized, both about killing him and snogging him. But whenever the conflicting emotions took over, she felt like her brain was going to explode, so she drew.

The week before OWLs had already been rough, but the incident at the end of the week was enough to tip her over the edge. It was a Friday, which wasn't particularly a bad thing, except she had procrastinated in studying, so she would have to cram all weekend just to pass. In her last class of the day, Transfiguration, Rose received back the essay she had spent a week on for McGonagall. McGonagall was the only teacher who didn't seem to put her family on a pedestal and who didn't have extremely unrealistic goals for Rose. She was expecting to get back that essay with an O; she believed it was some of her best work. Instead she received an E, which wasn't particularly a bad thing, except Malfoy was already bragging about _his_ O. She tried to tune him out, but in the last 5 minutes of class, he managed to find his way over to her. He shoved the paper under her nose, but she closed her eyes and decided to pretend he wasn't there.

When class was over, the entire room spilled out into an already crowded hallway. Everyone was headed in the same direction, towards the Great Hall for dinner. Rose spent as long as she could packing up her bag, not only to avoid the crowd, but also to avoid Malfoy. He had stayed behind as well though, seemingly just to annoy her. Again, she decided to ignore him and hope he went away. He didn't. He continued to brag about his superior grade, not caring about how pissed Rose was.

They reached the Great Hall and Rose finally snapped. "WILL YOU SHUT UP ALREADY?" Not long after, the two were engaged in a full-force screaming match. Why did he have to be so annoying? Why did he have to be so smart? Why did his eyes have to be so gorgeous? Why were they always filled with anger and hate? Before she knew it, Rose had tears running down her cheeks. She could never allow these tears, at least not in public. As soon as she felt the droplets fall on her shoulder, she reached her hand up to dry her eyes. She then stormed away from the Great Hall, forgetting about dinner altogether. When was the last time she ate a real meal anyways? She had let too much of her anger build up and she wasn't going to let it show, so she decided to draw.

She went into her room, pulled her art supplies from the trunk at the foot of her bed, and locked herself in the bathroom. See, Rose Weasley wasn't your typical artist. She didn't use a quill or even a pen or pencil to draw. She didn't even draw on paper. She preferred a more permanent medium, one that she would carry with her always, even though she hated the constant reminder of her weaknesses. She refused to share her drawings with anyone, but the thing she longed for most was someone she could talk to, someone who understood.

She began to draw, her skin as the canvas, and her razor as the pen.

She drew over scars and she drew over innocent, clear skin.

She drew on her stomach and her thighs, but never her wrists.

If she drew on her wrists, then someone might see.

See her anger.

Her pain.

Her fear.

Her shame.

She couldn't let that happen.

These drawings were private.

So she sat alone, locked in her bathroom, trapped in her own mind.

She sat alone…

And she drew.


End file.
